Paine's Grey
by Civeta
Summary: Egad, I wrote a Mary Sue! :sobs: It's a self insert, bad, don't read. Please.
1. On a whim

A/N: I know the title is odd (actually, it's the name of a blue-grey color in my watercolor set), but I couldn't think of anything else, and the color sort of reminds me of the mood of my story anyway. ;-) So don't be too surprised if the title changes when I finally come up with something suitable. Anyway, this story is just basically about Sirius, with me thrown in as an OC. It's a bit psychological I guess, maybe because I wrote parts of it during my psych class. Feel free to review (pleasepleaseplease! ^_^), constructive criticism is welcome.  
  
Disclaimer: I think everyone knows I don't own the Potter series, but to fend off lawsuits I'll say it here: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, I do not.  
  
Paine's Grey  
  
Chapter 1  
  
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I walked down the nearly-deserted street, my footsteps echoing across  
  
puddles and through the falling rain. I pulled my cloak tighter around me,  
  
though it was already soaked through and did little to shield me from the cold. I  
  
just wanted to get home, out of these muggle streets where everyone stared as I  
  
passed by in my flowing wizard garb. I really should have changed before I left  
  
the theatre, but I had been lost in thought about the play and it was only when I  
  
was three blocks towards home that I realized what I was wearing. Oh well, I  
  
thought, only one more block to go, anyway. One damn cold, wet block.  
  
Suddenly I stopped. In front of me was a creature even wetter and more  
  
bedraggled than me: a shaggy, black dog that looked like it hadn't eaten for days.  
  
My eyes met the dog's dark gaze, and it felt like something snapped into place  
  
somewhere in the depths of my subconscious mind. The dog froze as it noticed  
  
me, and for a moment I thought it would run away. Slowly, I knelt down and  
  
reached out my hand, speaking reassuring nonsense in a low, calming tone.  
  
"Good boy, you're a good boy," I murmured, "Come on, come here, I  
  
won't hurt you." The dog hesitated, looking up and down the dark street, then  
  
he moved cautiously towards me, stopping just within my reach. I rubbed my  
  
fingers behind his ears, slightly disturbed by how little spare flesh there was. The  
  
dog gave a low whine and sidled closer to me, probably trying to soak up some  
  
of my rapidly dissipating body heat. My heart filled with pity for the poor thing.  
  
Compelled by compassion and the strange connection I felt with the dog, I made  
  
an impulsive decision.  
  
"You can come home with me, boy. Come on, follow me." I stood up and  
  
started walking slowly, beckoning for him to follow. Again he hesitated and  
  
looked over his shoulder, and I was strongly reminded of a man who was afraid  
  
he was being followed. I whistled to him, and after a moment he came trotting  
  
towards me, always staying just barely within reach. I arrived at my apartment  
  
within minutes, and gave a quick look around to make sure no one was watching  
  
before shooing the dog into the entranceway. Technically, we weren't allowed to  
  
have pets, but I wasn't really planning on keeping the dog anyway. I led him up  
  
the two flights of stairs to my apartment, and when we reached the door I  
  
furtively pulled out my wand.  
  
"Alohomora," I whispered and the door clicked open. Stashing my wand  
  
in my cloak pocket I stepped inside, and the dog slipped in after me. I shed my  
  
cloak and left it to drip morosely from the back of a kitchen chair. The dog shook  
  
himself, spraying water all over my semi-tidy room. I laughed at the sight of his  
  
fur standing up like porcupine quills, and I could've sworn he grinned back at  
  
me. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and began rubbing the dog down,  
  
talking to him as I did so.  
  
"There, that feels better, doesn't it? Nice and dry. D'you want some food?  
  
I bet you do." He gave a quiet sort of bark. Slightly unnerved, I looked at the  
  
dog, thinking that he was surely the most intelligent canine I'd ever seen, and  
  
wondering how it was that he had ended up on the streets.  
  
"Okay then," I said, and went into the kitchen. I didn't have any dog food,  
  
of course, but there was a bowl of leftover stew in the fridge that I thought  
  
would do quite nicely. I stuck the tip of my wand in it and muttered a quick  
  
charm. Carrying the now-hot stew back to the dog, I found him patiently waiting  
  
where I had left him. I set the food down in front of him, and he began gobbling  
  
it down, confirming my suspicion that he'd been starving. I sat down next to  
  
him, stroking his fur as he continued to eat.  
  
"What should I call you?" I mused, more to myself than to him. "I've  
  
always liked mythological names.Morpheus, Pluto." The dog finished the  
  
stew, licking the last drops from the sides, then lay down with his head on his  
  
paws. His strangely intelligent eyes regarded me intently.  
  
"And then there's always the obvious," I said, now feeling a bit ridiculous  
  
talking to a dog. "I could just call you Dog, or Black." His head shot up at the  
  
second name and he gave another soft bark. I was startled: just how smart was  
  
this dog?  
  
"Black?" I half-asked. He just looked at me. "Well, I guess that's as good a  
  
name as any. Black it is." I stood up, shivering in my wet robes. I decided to  
  
change into warmer garments, so I went into my bedroom and began rifling  
  
through my clothes. Black followed me and jumped up onto the bed, curling into  
  
a large, fuzzy ball. His dark eyes followed my every movement, but when I took  
  
off my shirt to change, he shut them tightly. Amused at the ridiculous notion of a  
  
modest dog, I smiled a bit as I finished dressing and wrapped myself up in a  
  
cozy blanket from the bed. Having nothing better to do, I lit a fire in the hearth  
  
with my wand and lay down in front of it, intending to read the novel I'd been  
  
meaning to re-read for weeks. Black came sauntering out of the bedroom and  
  
joined me by the fire.  
  
For a while I read, basking in the warmth of the fire, then I put the book aside  
  
and became preoccupied with brushing out Black's long, matted fur. It took ages,  
  
and I was mildly surprised that Black didn't go to sleep. Given the  
  
circumstances-a warm fire, a full stomach, and a fur massage -any normal dog  
  
would probably have been asleep in an instant. Instead, it almost seemed that  
  
Black was purposely trying not to sleep: his eyes would drift shut, then he'd yank  
  
them open again with a twitch. Eventually it was I that ended up falling asleep,  
  
my arm around the dog's middle and my face nestled in the now-silky fur of his  
  
neck. 


	2. The morning after

A/N: Sorry about the strange format. It seems my computer has issues, and this is the only way I can make my story readable. _; By the way, I have a theory that animagi can't hold their animal shape while asleep or under stress (which is why Sirius changed back into a human when surrounded by dementors). Anyway, that's how it is in my ficlet.  
  
Paine's Grey  
  
Chapter 2  
  
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I know I dreamt that night, strange, confusing dreams that I couldn't quite  
  
grasp. When I finally faded into consciousness, the first thing I noticed was the  
  
sound of rain hitting the windows and the distant rumble of thunder. Another  
  
rainy day, I thought, glad that I was inside, dry and warm. Instinctively I  
  
snuggled closer to the source of warmth that was in my arms. It was large, and I  
  
could feel smooth skin beneath ragged fabric. Somewhere an alarm bell rang in  
  
my sleep-fogged mind. I struggled to wake up, and began remembering the  
  
events of the night before. I was coming home. found the dog. fell asleep in front of  
  
the fire.I opened my eyes. In my arms, where a big, shaggy dog had been the  
  
night before, a gaunt, shaggy man lay now. As he shifted in his sleep, he turned  
  
his face to me, black hair falling back from high cheekbones. I recognized the face  
  
immediately: it had been on the cover of nearly every newspaper and magazine  
  
for the past two months.  
  
Sirius Black, murderer of thirteen people.  
  
I screamed and started frantically scuttling away from him as fast as I  
  
could. At my yell his eyes snapped open, and with the reflexes of a wild animal  
  
he leapt to his feet. Both our eyes darted to the same thing instantaneously: my  
  
wand, sticking out of a pocket of my cloak. I darted for it, but he was faster. He  
  
snatched my wand right out from under my fingers, then aimed it at me,  
  
breathing fast. I stared at the tip of my own wand, knowing full well that I was  
  
looking at my own death. I didn't close my eyes: I wanted to get one last look at  
  
the world before I was forced to leave it. My eyes fastened to his; they were  
  
bright black, and I realized with a shock that they were the dog's eyes, Black's  
  
eyes. I saw emotions flicker across his face, quick as lightning: fear,  
  
determination, something I couldn't name, then fear again. Several moments  
  
passed, and still I knelt in front of him, bound with dreadful anticipation. Finally  
  
I could stand it no longer.  
  
"If you're going to kill me, do it," I said shakily. Still he didn't move, and  
  
now I saw new feelings write themselves on his features. Pity softened his eyes,  
  
then anger tightened his mouth and unhappiness slackened his cheeks. When he  
  
spoke, I could hear something of all three emotions in his dark, smooth voice.  
  
"I won't kill you," he said, and I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted  
  
from my shoulders. "Despite what everyone says," he continued, anger more  
  
pronounced in his voice now, "I have never killed anyone, and I definitely won't  
  
start by murdering a beautiful woman who is guilty of nothing but stew." He  
  
gave me a small smile that I couldn't find it in myself to return.  
  
"Besides," he growled, his grip on the wand tightening, "I'm saving that  
  
honor for one person in particular." I wondered what he meant by that, then my  
  
mind began working frantically: he said he was innocent, but of course he  
  
would, and there was no good reason to believe him. I weighed my chances.  
  
Black was much bigger than I was, and even though he looked extremely  
  
underfed he still seemed to posses a wiry strength that I realized I couldn't  
  
overcome. On the other hand, the door was only about twenty feet to my left. If  
  
he would just put the wand away, I could probably get away before he could  
  
stop me. I waited for my chance. Black, meanwhile, seemed to have bottled up  
  
his anger once again. He was studying me now with a look both of apprehension  
  
and cautious hope on his face. I forced myself to look straight into his eyes and  
  
give a false smile.  
  
"Well, I'm glad you don't want to kill me, because I don't want to die."  
  
Black's mouth twitched in a slight smile at my feeble joke. I sat back on my knees  
  
as I strove for something else to say.  
  
"So, how long has it been since you had a good meal? Not counting last  
  
night," I added quickly. Black sighed and looked down at his toes, the wand  
  
lowering slightly.  
  
"Too long. I don't even remember what pudding tastes like anymore." For  
  
a moment, looking at his aristocratic, melancholy face, I felt an overwhelming  
  
surge of pity; but the next moment I was back on guard. This man had killed  
  
thirteen people, there were witnesses. Just because he seemed to be suffering  
  
from some sort of denial didn't make him any less dangerous. I stood up  
  
cautiously, very aware that his wand was still pointing at my heart.  
  
"If you want, I have more food," I said enticingly, keeping a close eye on  
  
him. As I had hoped, the mention of food seemed to have temporarily distracted  
  
him. His eyes lit up.  
  
"Food would be very welcome, thank you." And he stuck the wand in his pocket. 


	3. Confrontations

Paine's Grey  
  
Chapter 3  
  
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Immediately I sprinted for the door. I heard the air whistle behind me as  
  
he whipped out his wand with incredible speed.  
  
"Piedras immobilus!" he shouted. Just as my fingertips brushed the  
  
doorknob, I felt my legs lose all their strength. I fell to the floor, crashing into the  
  
door with my momentum. I cried out as the back of my head smashed against  
  
the doorjamb, and for a moment I saw sunbursts flash across my vision. Then  
  
through the haze I saw Black's legs coming closer to me. Despite his earlier  
  
reassurances, I was mortally afraid. Angering a mass murderer with an attempt  
  
to escape was not the best of ideas. I looked up at him from the floor, expecting  
  
to see rage twisting his face. Instead, I was shocked and somewhat bewildered to  
  
see an ocean of hurt churning in the depths of his black eyes. For a few long  
  
moments he looked down at me, and under his anguished scrutiny I looked  
  
away. Why did I suddenly feel as if I'd betrayed him? He was a murderer, for  
  
God's sake, sure I was justified in trying to escape. With an inexplicable mood  
  
swing, my guilt suddenly ignited into anger. I glared at him, incensed that he'd  
  
made me question my own motivation for fleeing. He watched me change, too! I  
  
thought, ignoring my reasonable internal voice that reminded me that he'd  
  
closed his eyes. As I glowered into his face, I saw some of his hurt begin to  
  
freeze, forming an opaque barrier behind his eyes, cutting me off from his  
  
innermost thoughts. Black's demeanor changed: he stared down haughtily at me  
  
where I lay, and when he spoke his voice seemed almost contemptuous.  
  
"Well, that wasn't very nice," he said, looking down at me. "Now I'm  
  
afraid I can't trust you anymore. I'll have to leave this curse on to make sure you  
  
don't bolt while my back is turned." I gave him a dirty look, earning myself a  
  
bland stare in return. Out of sheer spite, I sought about for something nasty to  
  
fling at him.  
  
"Do you make a habit of sneaking into houses and incapacitating the  
  
occupants if, for some inconceivable reason, they object to harboring a  
  
murderer?" I demanded scathingly. Black's eyes flashed as he stepped forward.  
  
"I told you, I'm not a murderer," he said, his voice gone cold and  
  
dangerous, "And for your information, miss."  
  
"Mira," I spat, then mentally cursed myself for giving him my real name.  
  
"For your information then, Mira, I haven't inflicted my company on  
  
anyone for years, and I'm sincerely regretting doing so now. But as the damage  
  
is done, I may as well make the best of a bad situation." He strode over to the  
  
window and looked up and down the rain-obscured streets. "There're dementors  
  
everywhere. Even if your company is less than congenial, " he said, shooting a  
  
twisted smile at me, "a safe haven is a safe haven. Now, Mira, I'm going to have  
  
to ask you to move yourself away from the door."  
  
"How?" I asked, gesturing irritatedly at my useless legs. Without an  
  
answer, Black returned over to where I lay and knelt down next to me. Before I  
  
could figure out what he was doing, he slipped one arm under my knees and the  
  
other around my back. He lifted me into the air and I struggled violently, my  
  
temper finally erupting.  
  
"Put me down, you son of a bitch!" I yelled, trying very hard to pummel  
  
his head while twisting to get out of his arms. Black seemed as oblivious to my  
  
punches as to my screams, and he carried me purposely towards the bedroom.  
  
Thrashing about even harder, I made an especially violent lunge as we passed  
  
through the doorway in a last-ditch attempt to escape. This turned out to be a  
  
mistake, however. Instead of dislodging me from my captor's arms, I succeeded  
  
only in hitting my already-dented head against the doorframe. That was the last  
  
straw for my poor, abused skull: my senses fled in protest, hiding in a wave of  
  
engulfing darkness.  
  
A/N: Thanks for reading my story! I love my readers! There will be more, I actually have it written, but I need to find time to type it. Hopefully I'll get my new chapters posted soon. In the meantime, review and tell me how I'm doing! I'm sure reviews will help me type faster. 


	4. A slip of the tongue

A/N: *cries uncontrollably* Only.(snuffle).one.(sob).review! Please, is this really that bad? I'm still posting because I, for one, think it's at least decent. If you review me now, I'll love you forever.  
  
Disclaimer: The song lyrics used in this chapter were written by the Celtic band Solas, not by me.  
  
Chapter 4 **************************************************************************** ****************  
  
I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I think it was a couple  
  
hours. The stress and emotional turmoil I'd been in combined with the head  
  
injury to put me out for quite a while, in any case. When I woke this time, there  
  
was no slow fading into wakefulness; I was fully alert in an instant. My eyes flew  
  
open and the first thing I saw was Black's face. He was leaning over me, and I  
  
could feel his hand pressing something warm to the back of my head. Once  
  
again, the expression he wore seemed completely at odds with that of a  
  
hardened criminal. He looked remorseful, and full of an infinite sadness that I  
  
couldn't fathom. When he saw my eyes open, he didn't pull back (presumably  
  
because of what he was holding to my head), but a bit of the icy manner from  
  
before crept back into his face.  
  
"So you're finally awake. I was afraid I'd have to spend the whole day like  
  
this. Here," he said, his voice defrosting somewhat, "drink this." He handed me  
  
a cup of steaming liquid. For a moment I suspected poison, then I shook myself.  
  
If he'd wanted me dead, he could do it at any time without having to resort to  
  
poison. I gulped down the drink, finding that I was surprisingly thirsty. The  
  
potion had no real taste, and I was disappointed to discover that it did nothing to  
  
ease the throbbing of my head.  
  
"What was that for?" I asked, setting down the cup. "If it's supposed to be  
  
a painkilling potion, I'm afraid you're not very good at brewing potions." Black  
  
didn't say anything, but he removed his hand from the back of my head. He was  
  
holding a wad of cloth that was dyed a deep crimson with blood. It was only  
  
then that I noticed the other rags lying on the floor, all also stained red. Suddenly  
  
I felt light-headed and I swayed where I sat, involuntarily clinging to Black in  
  
order to stay upright. He threw down the cloth and wrapped one arm around  
  
my shoulders to steady me.  
  
"It was a blood clotting potion to stop the bleeding. It would have been a  
  
painkiller, but you don't have the ingredients and I'm not about to stroll into an  
  
apothecary shop to get them." I was feeling too miserable to do anything but  
  
nod, which resulted in more pain shooting through my skull. All my anger from  
  
earlier had burned to ash, and I was left feeling depressed and uncertain. If Black  
  
was such an awful person, why had he bothered to spend hours tending my  
  
wound? And why was he supporting me so gently now, urging me to sit back  
  
and rest? Deciding to ponder this when my head finally cleared, I gave up  
  
thinking and fell asleep within minutes.  
  
I woke up some time later when a tremendous thunderclap cracked  
  
through the air. I sat bolt upright and looked around. There was no sign of Black.  
  
For a second I thought the whole thing was a dream. Then I tried to get out of  
  
bed, and my legs refused to move. I sank back into the pillows, my heart falling  
  
to reside somewhere near my knees. So it wasn't a dream after all. I really was  
  
being held captive in my own house by the notorious Sirius Black. I reached up a  
  
hand and gingerly felt the back of my aching head. There was a large lump and  
  
copious amounts of dried blood in my hair, but at least it had stopped bleeding. I  
  
listened intently through the pitter-patter of rain for any sign of Black. Before  
  
long I heard the sounds of a beautiful, slightly husky male voice, his singing  
  
permeating the apartment like some musky perfume. Though I couldn't make  
  
out the words, the tune was both sad and desperate, and seemed to be a perfect  
  
match for Black's voice. He must have moved closer to the bedroom door,  
  
because I began to make out the words to his melody.  
  
"While sad, I kissed away her tears, my fond arms 'round her flinging  
  
The foeman's shot burst on our ears from out the wild woods ringing  
  
The bullet pierced my true love's side, in life's young spring so early  
  
And on my breast in blood she died, while soft wind shakes the barley."  
  
His voice broke, but it was no less lovely than it had been before; in fact, it  
  
seemed even more poignant, more heartbreaking. Again, I found my heart at  
  
odds with my head. My heart told me that this man was no murderer: no one  
  
who had ruthlessly killed 13 people could possibly feel the pain and sorrow that  
  
I heard in his voice. On the other hand, my head still argued (less strongly, now)  
  
that he couldn't be trusted, that there had to be some truth to the hundreds of  
  
news stories about him. I felt confused, frightened, and torn. His melody filled  
  
my ears, the notes like shards of broken glass that pricked my eyes and pierced  
  
my heart with bittersweet splinters.  
  
"Now blood for blood without remorse, I've taken to Ourlard Hollow  
  
I laid my true love's clay-cold corpse where I full soon will follow  
  
And 'round her grave I wander here, now night and morning early,  
  
With a breaking heart whene'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley."  
  
I couldn't help it: I broke into tears as he finished his song, and despite my best  
  
efforts I couldn't stop. I didn't even really know why I was crying, whether it  
  
was because of the song, my own predicament, or both combined. But I sat there,  
  
tears streaming silently down my cheeks, and that's how he found me when he  
  
entered. He was carrying two bowls of soup, but when he saw my wet face he  
  
stood still, clearly unsure of what to do. Through my tear-fogged eyes I saw him  
  
place the bowls carefully on the bureau near the door, then walk hesitantly  
  
towards me. I turned my face away, ashamed of my own weakness, hating that  
  
he was watching me cry. I heard him stop next to the bed, and there was a pause  
  
before he spoke.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked awkwardly. "Does your head still hurt?" I  
  
started to nod, then shook my head.  
  
"That's not it," I choked out. "It's just." My throat closed up, and more  
  
tears spilled out of my eyes. I felt the bed sag as he sat tentatively on the edge.  
  
"I'm sorry I have to keep you cursed," he said, "But I can't afford to trust  
  
you. I'm not safe anywhere.the dementors.you don't understand." I balled  
  
my hands into fists and turned to face him, the tears coming faster than ever.  
  
"No, I don't understand! Everyone says you're a murderer, you've been in  
  
Azkaban for years, and now you tell me you're completely innocent? I don't  
  
know what to believe," I sobbed, "There's no reason for me to accept your story,  
  
but I can't help but believe it anyway. I want to trust you, you're too kind to be a  
  
murderer, too thoughtful, too beautiful." I stopped, horrified at what I'd  
  
blurted out. I didn't know why I'd said that, I didn't even remember consciously  
  
thinking it, but looking at him I knew it was true, which threw me into an even  
  
greater state of turmoil. Black's face registered shocked surprise, and I lowered  
  
my face into my hands.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said, trembling, "I'm just really confused right now.  
  
Please.I just want to be alone for a bit." There was absolute silence for a  
  
moment, then I felt Sirius stand up from the bed.  
  
"I'll be in the next room," he said, not looking at me, "Do you want the  
  
soup?' I nodded, and he passed the bowl carefully to me, still avoiding my eyes.  
  
He placed his hand briefly on my shoulder then exited the room, leaving the  
  
door open behind him. 


	5. Fireside conversation

Chapter 5 **************************************************************************** **************** I looked at the tomato soup, realizing belatedly that I wasn't hungry and  
  
there was no spoon. To be polite, I drank a bit of it straight from the bowl before  
  
setting it on the bedside table. I lay back, closing my eyes and thinking. What on  
  
earth had possessed me to say he was beautiful? I sighed, and mentally shoved  
  
that quandary aside in favor of a more urgent one: what to do about Sirius. After  
  
pondering for many long minutes, I decided to err on the side of caution. I would  
  
assume he was a criminal until clearly proven otherwise. So I would play along,  
  
do whatever he said, and do my best not to piss him off. That decided, I tried to  
  
sleep, but I had gotten so much rest lately that I found it impossible to do more  
  
than close my eyes. After about half a miserable hour of lying on my back, wide  
  
awake despite my best efforts, I gave up. Unfortunately, I'm the type of person  
  
who gets bored extremely easily, and sure enough, within ten minutes I couldn't  
  
stand just lying there for another moment. I sat up and craned my head to look  
  
out the door and saw Sirius' silhouette against the fire in the hearth. He appeared  
  
to be lost in thought, his head bowed and his hands folded in his lap. I thought  
  
for a moment before calling out, adopting my best polite behavior.  
  
"Um.Mr. Black?" His head jerked up and he swiveled around to look at  
  
me.  
  
"Yes?" he said distantly. I could tell his mind was still on whatever he'd  
  
been pondering.  
  
"Can I.can I sit in front of the fire too? Only, I'm cold and my book's  
  
over there and everything." I trailed off, still slightly embarrassed from my  
  
unintentional comment earlier. Sirius, however, seemed to have gotten over it.  
  
He stood up and entered my room without hesitation, his manner still reserved.  
  
He lifted me out of bed, grabbing a blanket at the same time, then carried me  
  
over to the hearth and set me down. I used my arms to cross my annoyingly  
  
useless legs as Sirius settled himself down on the far side of the fire. I was still for  
  
a moment, simply enjoying the heat and crackle of the flames in contrast to the  
  
rain drumming on the windowpane. Then I looked for my book, and was  
  
surprised to find it several feet from where I had left it the night before.  
  
Stretching, I picked it up and examined it closely.  
  
"You were reading my book," I said conversationally. Sirius took his eyes  
  
off the fire to look over at me.  
  
"I've read it before," he said nonchalantly, "I was just reading my favorite  
  
parts over again." I was intrigued: I had very unusual taste in books and had  
  
never before met someone else who shared my tastes.  
  
"You've read Kahil Gibran?" I asked. "Did you like it?" Sirius smiled  
  
vaguely and gazed back at the fire.  
  
" 'Beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you  
  
are the veil,' " he quoted, flames dancing in his dark eyes. "It was one of my  
  
favorite books, before." he trailed off, pain flashing across his face before he  
  
managed to mask it. "Anyway, I hadn't read it in a long time and I missed it." I  
  
looked down at my hands, twisting my fingers as an awkward silence grew. I  
  
reached up to massage my throbbing temples and my fingers touched the gritty  
  
blood still stuck in my hair. I made a disgusted noise.  
  
"Ugh, my hair must look a mess," I mumbled, then looked up at Sirius as  
  
an idea struck. "Do you think you could take the curse off just long enough for  
  
me to take a shower?" I asked hopefully. Sirius turned his head in my direction,  
  
but his eyes seemed to look straight through me.  
  
"I can't risk it," he said, looking down, "You know that." My shoulders  
  
slumped slightly in disappointment, but I wasn't really surprised.  
  
"I know," I sighed, wrapping my blanket closer around me and pulling  
  
my hair free of the coverlet with a grimace of distaste. I opened my book and  
  
began reading, but it was only a minute or so later when I was interrupted by  
  
Sirius' voice.  
  
"I could help you, if you like." I looked up from my book, confused.  
  
"What?"  
  
"With your hair," he clarified, his eyes appraising the filthy state of my  
  
head. I considered. Though I did want to wash, I certainly didn't want an  
  
escaped convict helping me do it. I was about to refuse, but then I remembered  
  
my previous resolution to go along with Black and not upset him. Judging by the  
  
look on his face, this was probably his way of apologizing for hurting me in the  
  
first place. And generally, people get upset when apologies are rejected. Steeling  
  
myself, I gave him a slight smile and nodded.  
  
A/N: The quote used in this chapter was from the book The Prophet by Kahil Gibran. I'm sure no one thought that was mine. Right? ^_~ 


	6. Clean at last

Chapter 6 **************************************************************************** ***************  
  
"Thank you, I'd appreciate that." Sirius gave me a warm smile in return  
  
and stood up, brushing off his ragged robes. He picked me up in his arms again,  
  
and after tensing up for a moment I tried to relax. He carried me to the  
  
bathroom, nudging the door open with his foot before entering. I muttered  
  
"Lumos," and the lights flickered on, shining down on the small, blue-tiled  
  
bathroom. He set me on the counter then turned on the faucet, testing the water  
  
with his hand. I started getting nervous: he wasn't expecting me to undress, was  
  
he?  
  
"Um.Mr. Black." I began.  
  
"Sirius," he said, looking at me from over his shoulder and giving me a  
  
reassuring smile.  
  
"Sirius, um, I'd really prefer to keep my clothes on." This was a bit of an  
  
understatement: under no circumstances was I planning to let him bathe me in  
  
the nude. A bit of faint color rose to his cheeks and he averted his eyes.  
  
"I was just planning to run the water over your hair, nothing more," he  
  
said quietly. "If you don't want to get your shirt wet you can just pull down the  
  
neckline a little." I nodded, blushing a little myself now, and proceeded to do so,  
  
pulling down my robes just enough to bare my shoulders. When the water was  
  
warm enough, Sirius turned back to me, lifted me from the counter, and placed  
  
me on the floor.  
  
"Just hang your head over the edge," he instructed, switching the water  
  
flow from the faucet to the shower wand. I composed my legs into a kneeling  
  
position and did as he said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, mostly because I  
  
felt like I was stretching out my neck for a guillotine. I felt Sirius kneel behind me  
  
and bring his arm over my shoulders. A warm gush of water poured over my  
  
head, reminding me unpleasantly of blood; an association that was reinforced as  
  
I saw that the water streaming from my scalp had a reddish tinge. I shuddered,  
  
and immediately the flow of water moved off my head.  
  
"Is it too cold?" asked Sirius.  
  
"No, it's fine," I replied through a curtain of dripping hair. The water  
  
resumed, then I felt gentle fingers beginning to rub my hair, coaxing the sweat  
  
and dried blood out of the strands.  
  
"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured, moving to the other side of my  
  
head. After he had washed all he could of the loose hair, he began massaging my  
  
scalp, careful to stay away from the gash. Despite his care, my head hurt with  
  
every touch. I hissed in pain, and the fingers stopped.  
  
"Did that hurt?" Sirius inquired.  
  
"Yes," I said, breathing shallowly, "but I think I'm just going to have to  
  
deal with it if I want to get clean." Sirius' fingers hesitated, then began washing  
  
again, flinching every time I made a sound of pain. When the water finally ran  
  
clear again, he turned off the water and draped a towel over my shoulders.  
  
"There," he said, gathering my hair back and toweling it until it stopped  
  
dripping, "You can get up now." There was a pause, then his hands stilled.  
  
"Sorry," he said quietly.  
  
"It's okay," I replied, somewhat distracted by my aching head. "Can I go  
  
back to the fire now?"  
  
"Certainly," he said, though I heard a note of disappointment in his voice.  
  
Sirius gathered me into his arms once again, but I couldn't help wincing in pain  
  
when my head was jolted. I was startled to see a flicker of frustration and anger  
  
on his face, but it seemed to be focused inwards rather than at me. He carried be  
  
back to the living room and laid me in front of the hearth. He put my head on a  
  
pillow, then sat down next to me. I tried to lay out my hair so that it would dry  
  
faster, but it was hard to hold my head up long enough to do so. When Sirius  
  
saw what I was doing, he reached over and supported my neck while I  
  
straightened out my hair.  
  
"Thank you," I said softly as he withdrew his hand.  
  
"It's the least I can do," he replied, lowering his eyes. "I know you don't  
  
have much choice in the matter, but I still feel like I owe you for your  
  
hospitality." I said nothing. Over the past hour he had shown himself to be a far  
  
more gentle and caring person than I had ever imagined him to be. But there was  
  
still a shadow of doubt in my mind, and only one thing could dispel it: an  
  
explanation.  
  
"Sirius." I began, then gathering my courage I went on. "What  
  
happened the night Peter Pettigrew died?"  
  
A/N: A cliffie! Don't worry, if you review I'll post the next chapter soon. I've already written it, so that isn't an issue. Btw, what do you think of the new summary? I changed it per the suggestion of Natalie (thanks! ^_^), but I haven't decided whether I like it or not. Is it too soap-operaish? If you have a better idea, please tell me. 


	7. Shadow of the past

A/N: Yes, the chapter title is from Tolkien's Fellowship of the Ring, but it fit so perfectly that I couldn't resist using it.  
  
Chapter 7 **************************************************************************** **********  
  
I saw him stiffen, and he sat still as an icicle for many moments. When he  
  
eventually spoke, his voice was deeper and hoarser with suppressed emotion.  
  
"I couldn't tell you. He hasn't died yet." I just lay there, trying to  
  
comprehend what I'd just heard.  
  
"But he did die, they found his finger." Sirius gave a bitter, bark- like  
  
laugh.  
  
"You can live without a finger. He cut it off himself, to fake his own  
  
death." As I lay and listened, Sirius told me everything, all about how he had  
  
been the Potter's secret keeper, but had persuaded them to switch to Peter at the  
  
last minute. About how Peter had betrayed them, how he had arrived at the  
  
Potter's house to find it in ruins. When he told about how he had been forced to  
  
give Harry to Hagrid, his voice broke.  
  
"He was the only part left of my best friend," he choked, steadfastly  
  
staring into the fire. "Harry was the only thing that mattered to me any more,  
  
and they took him from me and gave him to strangers. Now he doesn't even  
  
know me, he thinks I'm a murderer, a traitor." he bit off the last two words like  
  
a man swallowing poison. My eyes were riveted to his face, so full of torment,  
  
and though I felt it would be polite to look away I couldn't. Sirius took a deep,  
  
shuddering breath, then continued with obvious effort.  
  
"After they took Harry, there was only one thing for me to do: get revenge  
  
on the bastard that caused it all." His lips twisted in fury and disgust. "Peter  
  
knew that's what I'd do, of course, so he was ready for me. And I, like an idiot,  
  
ran headlong into his trap. I thought I had him cornered, but he pulled a stunt I  
  
never would have believed him capable of dreaming up." In a monotone voice  
  
Sirius told me how Peter, a rat animagus, had done three things simultaneously:  
  
blew up a street full of muggles, cut off his right index finger, and transformed  
  
into a rat to escape through the sewers.  
  
"When the smoke and dust cleared and Peter was nowhere in sight, I  
  
realized what he had done." He spoke quietly, almost detachedly. "After  
  
betraying me, killing my best friends, and taking from me the only human I still  
  
cared for, Peter pinned it all on me and disappeared in a way that would ensure  
  
no one would ever look for him again. I think something must've snapped. I  
  
remember standing there, knee-deep in muddy water, rubble, and blood,  
  
laughing hysterically at the perverse humor of the universe. I, who had suffered  
  
the most, was going to pay for the crimes of the rat who was currently scuttling  
  
through sewers with only a lost finger to show for his transgressions." Sirius  
  
sighed and shut his eyes in pain.  
  
"I didn't even care when the dementors came for me. I was so miserable  
  
already that they didn't affect me at all. As you know, I spent the next 13 years in  
  
Azkaban. There isn't much to tell there, just weeks upon weeks of endless  
  
boredom and despair. Then one day I saw the picture in the Daily Prophet, with  
  
Peter sitting on the shoulder of a Hogwarts student. I knew immediately that  
  
Harry was in danger. I bent all my strength on escaping, and eventually one  
  
night I slipped past the guards in dog form and ran down to the ocean. I plunged  
  
into the water and began swimming to the mainland. The water was so cold."  
  
he shivered and clasped his hands together, as if trying to protect himself from  
  
the remembered chill.  
  
"I was so exhausted when I finally reached the shore that I collapsed on  
  
the wet stones and lay there for hours. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't die of  
  
hypothermia; by all rights I probably should have. But by some miracle I did  
  
wake up the next morning, a man again. I knew I had to keep going, to reach  
  
Harry before Peter could act, so I hauled myself up and staggered off towards  
  
Hogwarts. The dementors were close on my tail, and several times I barely  
  
managed to evade them with my soul intact. After weeks on the run, sleeping in  
  
ditches and eating from rubbish bins, I finally got here on Halloween night. I  
  
made straight for the castle in dog form, determined to get rid of Peter once and  
  
for all. While all the students were in the Great Hall for the feast I snuck up to the  
  
Gryffindor common room. But the Fat Lady wouldn't let me in without the  
  
password and I lost my temper. To come so far only to be thwarted by a stupid  
  
painting-" He growled, clenching his fists.  
  
"So I couldn't get Peter after all. I was getting desperate, and I probably  
  
would have done something stupid and drastic if I hadn't met the cat. One of the  
  
Gryffindor girls had bought him that year and brought him to school with her. I  
  
managed to communicate to the cat that he needed to catch the rat the lived in  
  
the boys' dormitory. It was actually quite easy, since Crookshanks already had  
  
taken a dislike to Peter. So that's where I am now," he concluded, sitting back  
  
from the fire. " I can't do anything until I can get into that dorm, and the  
  
dementors are still shadowing my every move. I'm still very worried about  
  
Harry, but there's nothing more I can do at the moment. I can only wait."  
  
A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! *hugs everyone* And thanks for the feedback on the summary. I don't think I'm going to change it again, at least for now. But my plot bunnies have deserted me! I'm having major writer's block, and I don't know what to do with my story after this chapter. If you have any suggestions that will get my creative juices flowing, I'd be very grateful. ^_^ 


	8. Sweet

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update! I promise I won't take so long next time: I'd post chapter 9 now, but that would mean typing it, and as it's already 12 midnight the night before an exam, I really don't think that'd be a good idea. But it WILL be up soon! And a massive thank you to toomanycurls, who helped me get over my writer's block. As you'll see, I sort of took one of her ideas and ran, so to speak… anyway, read on!

Chapter 8

*******************************************************************************************

We sat in silence in front of the fire, listening to the snap and crackle of the logs as they burned. I wanted to say something, to tell him how deeply I felt for him, but saying 'I'm sorry' just felt like the understatement of the century. There was no longer any doubt in my mind about his innocence: his story made sense, and it corresponded with what I had felt all along in my heart. But I didn't know how to say all of this, the words felt stuck in my throat. I gazed at Black staring fixedly into the flames, then I saw a single golden tear run down his cheek, catching the firelight and glowing like a drop of molten gold. I sat up, and after a moment's hesitation I put my arms gently around him. 

            "I believe you," I said quietly, hoping that in the simple words he could hear all that I couldn't find a way to say. He took a deep, shuddering breath and I felt the taut muscles of his back slowly relax as his head fell to my shoulder in relief. 

            "Thank you," he whispered, and I felt more than heard the extreme gratitude behind his words. We sat like that until the silence became awkward. Finally, he took a deep breath and sat back up, blinking his too-bright eyes. I gave him a warm smile which he returned hesitantly, as if he couldn't quite believe I was actually smiling at him.

            "I really should thank you," I said, lowering my eyes. "It must have been hard for you to talk about all that." Sirius looked away quickly, blinking furiously.

            "Yes, it was," he said tersely, his voice hoarse again. There were a few more moments of silence, then he cleared his throat and turned to me with a shadow of a smile.

            "Well, now we've cleared up that little misunderstanding, how would you like to get rid of that hex?" I grinned.

            "I'd love to." He pointed his wand at my legs.

            "Finite incantatum." I wiggled my toes experimentally, then cautiously moved my legs. When I'd ascertained that everything was in working order, I stood up and stretched, groaning.

            "Damn, that feels good. Thanks." I smiled my gratitude, but he didn't respond in kind. He was looking at me apprehensively, with a bit of feral mistrust like a dog that's been hit once too often. The grin faded from my face and I sat back down next to him.

            "I won't betray you, Sirius," I said gently but firmly. He scrutinized me for several long moments, then the mistrust in his eyes seemed to give way to fatalistic acceptance. He smiled without humour and turned back to the fire. I sighed and stood up, picking up a blanket and wrapping around my shoulders.

            "I'm going to make some sandwiches. Would you like one?" His head shot up, eyes slightly wiled, and I cursed myself for forgetting about the first time I'd offered him food. I winced.

            "Sorry. I really mean it this time. Trust me." The feral look receded from his face, and he gave a small laugh at himself as he turned to face the fire.

            "It's all right, I'm just jumpy. I'd love a sandwich." I went out to the kitchen and pulled a loaf of bread out of the cupboard. I reached for my wand to mix up some drinks before remembering that Sirius still had my wand. I decided to let him keep it for a while; he was obviously still having trouble trusting me, and it would make him feel more in control if he had a wand. I pulled some brandy out of the cupboard instead and poured us each a liberal dose. When I finished making the pastrami sandwiches (without magic, something I hadn't done in years) I returned to the fireside. Sirius had stretched out on the floor, and was deeply immersed in my book. I chuckled, and he looked up.

            "There you go again. You can have that book if you want. I have another copy around here somewhere." He grinned, the first completely pain-free smile I'd ever seen him give.

            "Thanks." I sat down next to him and handed him a sandwich. He demolished his food long before I finished mine, and started sipping at his brandy reflectively. I noticed him stealing a few glances at me over the rim of his glass, and self-consciously wolfed down the remainder of my sandwich. I'd thought his furtive looks had been aimed at my food, but even when the sandwich was long gone, he continued to watch me from the corner of his eye. Finally I felt compelled to say something. 

            "Do I have mustard on my face or something?" Sirius blushed slightly and looked away quickly.

            "Sorry. I'm still not used to being around people. Sometimes I think if I close my eyes you'll disappear." I took a gulp of my brandy.

            "Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked slightly bitterly, remembering what he'd said when we first met. Sirius looked up and caught my eye, his manner completely sober.

            "It would be a very bad thing. I don't want you to disappear," he added softly. I was struck by the intense honesty of his words, and I broke eye contact, feeling out of my league. 

            "I don't want you to disappear either," I whispered, mostly to myself, though I couldn't tell whether he'd heard it or not. After an awkward moment I stood up, still grateful for my restored mobility.

            "I think we both need some chocolate," I announced. Sirius smiled, clearly glad to be off the uncomfortable subject. 

            "Good idea." I went into the kitchen and grabbed the chocolate I always kept hidden behind my china and made my way back to the fire. When I returned, I saw that Sirius had conjured a few items of his own.

            "What are these?" I asked, indicating the rectangular biscuit-like things that sat next to spongy white cylinders.

            "It's a type of muggle food. These," he picked up a biscuit-thing, "are graham crackers. You put a marshmallow," he indicated the pile of fluffy things, "between a graham cracker and some chocolate and you get a smore."

            "Are they good?" I asked, sitting down and handing him half the chocolate. He grinned. 

            "They're delicious. I saw some campers making them once and I stole one. Just wait until you taste it. Wingardium leviosa!" Sirius levitated several marshmallows and sent them into the fire, not so close that they burned but close enough that they were quite brown within minutes. Then he put the half-molten fluff on a cracker and topped it with a slab of chocolate. He handed it to me carefully.

            "Watch out, it's sticky," he warned. I gingerly took a bite, then devoured the rest despite the burns the liquid marshmallow gave my tongue. Sirius was watching me with a self-satisfied smile on his lean face.  

            "Told you it was good." I licked my fingers as he consumed his own smore, envious of how he managed to complete the messy task without getting so much as a drop of marshmallow on his hands. We each ended up eating about five smores, and only stopped when our stomachs felt about to explode. Sirius lay on the hearth, holding his stomach while I tried vainly to get the last of the marshmallow from my fingers, face, arms, and hair. I heard a groan from the general direction of the hearth.

            "I never want to see a smore again," moaned Sirius happily.

            "You don't mean that," I said, smiling to myself.

            "You're right, I don't." I rubbed my hands together, then tried wiping my face with a corner of the blanket.

            "Have I gotten it off yet?" I asked. Sirius lolled his head around to look at me.

            "There's still some on your cheek," he said, gesturing to his own face. I rubbed furiously at my cheek, then looked up at him again. 

            "Still there. Here," he crawled from his spot near the fire and reached up a hand to my face. He rubbed his thumb gently over my cheek until all the sticky residue was gone. 

            "Thanks," I said softly, meeting his sloe-eyed gaze. He smiled, but didn't remove his hand from my face.

            "No problem." He leaned closer to me, his hand slipping behind my neck. All of a sudden, there was a loud knock on the door.


	9. Unwelcome visitor

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I've been REALLY busy. *grumble…stupid history project…mumble* And just yesterday, I got my black belt in Tae Kwon Do! Yay! Go me! I've been working on this for about 3 years now, so I'm really happy. I'm also really bruised at the moment (as in my arms are literally purple) but I decided to finally type this anyway. My apologies if there are typos, my fingers don't work very well right now.

Chapter 9

********************************************************************************************

Sirius jerked away, his eyes flying to the door, then back to me, desperation in every feature. His hand twitched towards the wand where it lay on the hearth, as if he was tempted to curse me, the visitor at the door, himself, or all three. I reached out, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze.

            "Transform yourself!" I whispered urgently. There was an almost painful look of relief in his eyes before he changed, then a large back dog appeared where the man had been moments before. As I stood up, there was another noisy banging.

            "Coming!" I yelled, moving quickly towards the door. After glancing over my shoulder just to ensure that Sirius really was unrecognizable, I turned to the door, unlocked it, and opened it a crack.

            "Mira?" asked a familiar voice from the other side of the door. After adjusting to the dim light of the hallway, my eyes made out the rather dour face of my long-time mentor and sometimes friend, Severus Snape.

            "Severus!" It was only then that I remembered that I had missed the advanced potions lesson I had requested of him the previous week. My mind worked furiously. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to owl you. You see," I improvised, deliberately adding a rasp to my voice, "I caught the flu a couple days ago. I didn't think I was up to brewing complicated potions. I'm sorry, I should have told you." Severus' naturally dismal face narrowed in concern. 

            "Yes, you should have. Then I might have been able to bring some pepper-up potion with me. Well, I suppose I can forgive you this time. Do you have any murtlap essence? I'll brew some for you now." Severus shouldered his way into my apartment, heading for my potion's cupboard, but halted when he saw the large black dog on the hearth. 

            "New dog?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me with a little smile, "I didn't think pets were allowed here." I blustered a bit, nervously eyeing the way Sirius' hackles were rising.

            "Well, they're not, really…but I-" Severus' lip snaked up into a little smirk.

            "I always thought Slytherins were supposed to be the rule-breakers. But you, a Ravenclaw…" he tsked his tongue at me, and I got a trifle annoyed. 

            "Really, Severus, we're not in school anymore. And the poor thing was starving, I couldn't just leave him out there." I gestured to the rain-soaked window. Severus' smile got wider.

            "You're so soft, Mira. But in this case, I think your idea was a good one. You could use a watchdog in this neighborhood." Momentarily abandoning his trek towards my potions ingredients, Severus made his way over to Sirius, holding his hand out for the dog to sniff. Sirius, however, had other ideas. As soon as Severus began to approach him he started backing up, baring his teeth and growling. Wondering what the hell Sirius was doing, I stepped between Severus and the dog.

            "He's still not used to strangers," I said, thinking fast. Severus frowned.

            "You should get him some obedience lessons. Probably needs a flea bath too," he added, sniffing, "If he bites someone, you're going to be blamed, you know." I nodded, too eager to get rid of Severus to bother arguing.

            "I know, I'll take care of him. But I really should get back to bed, Severus," I faked a yawn, then a cough. "I'll owl you when I'm feeling better, okay?" His eyes softened a bit.

            "The pepper-up will only take a minute." He began to head toward the kitchen again, but I caught his arm.

            "No, really, I…already had some today. I just need rest. But thank you for the offer," I said, sweetening my voice in the hopes that flattery would get him more agreeable to my suggestions. "I'm sure a potion made by the potionsmaster would be better than mine, but I just don't think it's smart to have 2 doses in one day." Severus smiled at the blatant compliment, taking my hand in his.

            "You always have to be smart, don't you, Ravenclaw? Well," he sighed, backing towards the door, "I suppose I should let you get some sleep. I'll send you some of my potion tomorrow."

            "Thank you, Severus," I said, ushering him into the hallway, "And I'll let you know when I'm ready for the lessons."

            "Do that." He gave my hand a quick squeeze before I managed to retrieve it and retreat into my apartment, closing the door behind me. I heard a muffled crack as he disapparated, and I leaned against the doorframe, heaving a sigh of relief.

Second A/N: Heh heh…yeah, I love author's notes. Anyway, I'm really not sure where this story is going now. I don't know why I put Snape in there, he just sort of showed up uninvited. I've written more of the story, but I don't like the way things are turning out, so I may have to rewrite it all, and maybe this chapter too. So it may be a while before my next update. If you want me to email you when I put up the next chapter, just send me your email address somehow and I'll get back to you.


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